E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial

The first time I saw E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, I wasn’t in a theater. I was sitting on a shag carpet that smelled faintly of Grape Welch’s, staring at a TV screen that had a slight magnetic purple smudge in the bottom-left corner. My parents had finally brought home the famous MCA Home Video cassette—the one with the distinctive green protective seal and the glowing finger on the box. For a kid in the 80s, owning that tape was like owning a piece of the moon. I watched it so many times that the tracking on the VCR eventually started to stutter during the "E.T. phone home" scene, adding a literal digital jitter to the emotional climax.

Watching it again decades later, I realized that Steven Spielberg (fresh off the adrenaline of Raiders of the Lost Ark) didn't just make a movie about a space traveler. He made a movie about the quiet, sometimes lonely architecture of childhood. Most sci-fi of the era was either "the world is ending" or "lasers in space," but E.T. is a suburban fairytale where the most dangerous thing in the world is a group of adults with flashlights and keys.

The Magic of Rubber and Reynolds Wrap

We live in an age where "creature design" often means a guy in a gray pajama suit standing in front of a tennis ball. Looking back at E.T. is a reminder of the tactile, sweaty, physical reality of the Golden Age of practical effects. Carlo Rambaldi, the genius who helped bring the Xenomorph to life in Alien, created something entirely different here: a squat, brown, telescoping-necked miracle of animatronics.

E.T. isn't "cute" in a traditional sense. He looks like a cross between a dried plum and an ancient turtle. But because Henry Thomas (as Elliott) is actually touching him, hugging him, and hiding him in a closet full of stuffed animals, the illusion never breaks. I noticed during this rewatch that the cinematography by Allen Daviau (who also shot The Color Purple) stays mostly at a child’s eye level. We rarely see the faces of adults, except for Dee Wallace as the mother, Mary. Everyone else is a pair of jangling keys or a pair of boots. It makes the world feel massive and slightly threatening, which is exactly how you feel when you're ten years old.

A Masterclass in Empathy (And Candy Marketing)

The performances are what keep this from being a saccharine mess. Henry Thomas gives arguably the best child performance in history. Apparently, during his audition, he thought about the day his dog died to get himself to cry, and he did it so convincingly that Steven Spielberg told him, "Okay kid, you got the job" before he even left the room.

Then there’s a tiny Drew Barrymore as Gertie. Her reaction to first seeing the alien isn't a choreographed Hollywood scream; it’s pure, unadulterated toddler terror. The chemistry between the siblings—including Robert MacNaughton as the older brother, Michael—feels authentic because it is messy. They bicker, they use 80s slang, and they keep a massive secret from their mom, who is clearly struggling with the fallout of a divorce.

And let’s talk about the candy. It’s one of the greatest "what-if" stories in business history. The production originally approached Mars, Inc. to use M&Ms to lure the alien, but they turned it down. Hershey’s stepped in with Reese’s Pieces, and the rest is marketing legend. Sales for the candy reportedly tripled within weeks. Personally, I can’t eat a Reese's Piece without thinking of a glowing finger, which is a hell of a legacy for a peanut butter lentil.

The Sound of Childhood Flight

You cannot talk about this film without John Williams. His score for the bicycle chase is, in my humble opinion, the greatest piece of cinematic music ever written. There is a moment where the music swells, the percussion kicks in, and the bikes take flight against the setting sun. It captures that feeling of total, reckless freedom.

I actually watched the "flight" scene most recently while nursing a mild sunburn from a failed beach trip, and the cool blue of the night scenes felt like literal aloe on my skin. It’s a transportive experience. CGI walkie-talkies are the ultimate 'Old Man Yells at Cloud' moment for movie purists, and I’m one of them. While Spielberg famously edited the guns out of the federal agents' hands for the 20th Anniversary edition, he later admitted it was a mistake. The original version, with its real stakes and real danger, is the one that matters. It’s the version where the threat feels heavy, making the eventual escape feel earned.

The Stuff You Didn't Notice

One of the coolest details I’ve picked up over the years is that E.T.’s voice wasn't just a synthesizer. It was a woman named Pat Welsh, a chain-smoker who lived in Marin County and was discovered by the sound designer in a camera store. She smoked two packs a day, which gave her that distinct, raspy, otherworldly croak.

Also, the "Pretty Girl" in the school scene? That’s Erika Eleniak, who would later become a Baywatch star. But in 1982, she was just the girl Elliott had to kiss because he was telepathically linked to a drunk alien. It’s a bizarre, hilarious sequence that reminds you that even in a "Family" movie, the 80s were a little bit weird and a lot more daring than modern blockbusters.

Ultimately, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial is the definitive "suburban sci-fi." It’s about the pain of being left behind and the courage it takes to say goodbye. It’s a film that works just as well on a 4K OLED screen as it did on my fuzzy CRT television thirty years ago. If you haven't seen it in a while, do yourself a favor: grab a bag of Reese’s Pieces, turn off your phone, and let yourself feel ten years old again. It’s the closest thing to real magic that Hollywood has ever bottled.